On things I can’t forgive and will not forget.

While in Spain, I had the opportunity to look at the way I see the world, the things that are uniquely important to me and things that I think should be important to everyone, ever, period.
Tild and I were having a conversation about Australia being a monarchy and how it is kind of ridiculous and really, how we both feel that we should become independent. However, we took polar opposite sides on whether it should be changed immediately. Tild (completely unquoted and paraphrased) believes that it needs to be rectified immediately, we are not part of some antiquated ide of the commonwealth, the British Empire, the Queen should not have a say in how things in our country work.

(Not that I truly believe that England actually gives a damn about things that happen here- no one outside Australia cares, this is what one learns in Europe, Australia is really far away.)

Me, on the other hand, I agree. But the point I made was that it’s not the first thing on my list. There’s many a thing I would like to change about the world before making Australia independent. A lot of them are kind of abstract- this is just the way it should be things, things that really hurt me, things that really disgust me, things that really sadden me. Some things could be changed with laws, most can’t. A lot of it is just stupidity that is so prevalent in the world.

Yes, Australia should be independent, but number one on my list is gay marriage. It is legal in Spain. It is not only illegal to be married, but simply to be homosexual in Morocco, where I will be travelling in less than two months.

Here, I have no words.

For me, it is a subject that should have no argument, it should not be something I have to support; it should be a fact. It should not be something I have to justify. It makes me ill, people who think it is wrong, that this love Is less than that love, that “they” should be given something “different” like civil unions, people who “don’t have anything against them” but think that it’s not right. Do people not see the similarities in this situation and any other kind of bigotry and ignorance and stupidity?

I see all around me people whose lives have nothing to do with their sexuality. They are in love, they are married, they are unlucky in love; they are happily single, happily coupled, heart- broken, whatever. They have different personalities, different beliefs, different jobs. They are some of my closest friends and they are no different to my other friends, except because they are different. Because anyone and everyone is different. No person can possibly be defined by their sexuality, any more than we can possibly ever be allowed to define somebody by race or gender or height or weight or whatever the hell kind of stupid thing people use to turn other people into second class citizens.

I guess I do have words. But for now, it makes me too angry. I can’t put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard) any longer.

For me, it is as simple as it being your daughter, your brother, your best friend, your favourite teacher, your parent. Are they a second class citizen?

What if it were me?

I get to safely be straight and that blows my mind. Why am I different?

After taking a breath, having a cup of tea, I move on.

While in Spain, Tild and I saw two things so simple, so quick and so disgusting that they are burned in my brain.

The first, in Granada, at the Alhambra, this amazing and beautiful ruined set of palaces.

We had seen these beautiful, ancient sites, with carved walls and huge expansive ceilings, and spent this morning surrounded by something so awe-inspiring. It makes you feel so small in face of history, so reverential to these people that hundreds of years ago built things that are still perfect today. Not perfect in our stupid 21^st century ideals, btu perfect in that they have stood against time. Travel makes you long for things that last. Makes you admire the total power-trips of these kings, that made them want their reigns to last forever.

It is something to be mystified at.

And yet.

We were in the mosque baths, small rooms, with little bathing sinks, tall ceilings, light trickling in through and illuminating the space. It was dim, the walls are crumbling and unlike those picturesque carved walls and detailed rooms, it is less impressive. But. It is beautiful. And ancient.

As we entered, alone, we could hear voices, a couple, speaking in French. It became clear that one voice was coming from up above, from a second floor or a mezzanine; so I started looking around for it. Walking into a second room, I saw a girl standing alone, staring up at a guy who was leaning down toward her from this second level. Before I could even think that there was no way up to the second floor, the guy flips around and begins to climb backward down the wall and back to our level. As he moved, his sneakers jutted into the wall, loosing rock and mortar from it. The noise was awful, a scraping as he slipped his feet down the wall. And as he did it, they were joking and laughing.

Tild and I just moved. As fast as we could. We burst out into the light and just stood. It hurt to breathe. It’s so hard to explain the feeling, but I could see it all over Tild’s face and I imagine that I must have looked the same. I wish I had yelled. I wish I had found a guard. I wish I had done something.

He destroyed history.

Simple as that. And I will never forget it.

In Madrid, Tild and I were walking back to the hostel from a ridiculous tapas bar. It was only early, 11pm or so. Walking down a street, we came toward a man on our side of the road, yelling across at a woman on the other side of the road. He was yelling in English, which still strikes me as strange, because I know in my heart that they didn’t know each other. He had called out to her and gotten increasingly angry and here is the kicker, surprised.

As we neared him, he muttered something, aghast, about her being a bitch.

It was a shock to him. A shock that she was ignoring him. This man, at night, was yelling at a woman alone in a really aggressive way and he was surprised that she hurried to her door, hurried to get inside, get away.

She was a bitch for acting that way.

And this is the point. It’s not even him yelling, it’s not even him being aggressive, although of course, these are problems. It is that assumption, the assumption that it is a compliment.

Or that she would find that attractive.

Or that it’s a woman’s fault.

She’s a bitch.

If she’s going to be out at night, she should expect it. She should be open to it. She’s out at night, so she’s a bitch if she ignores him.

She’s asking for it.

Ignorance. Stupidity.

There are so many things I would change.